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weeks’ chase, they said, and they weren’t taking any chances on him. The Judge might, they implied, but there were the two reporters to bear witness that, if Billy skipped, it was no fault of the police. As a matter of fact, one of the re- porters told the Judge that the papers had been “tipped off to send them out and get a good story on the Judge.”

When the case was called, everybody was laughing in his sleeve, everybody but the Judge and Billy B. The Judge was anxious, and the boy was sobbing in a corner with his shine-box hugged to his breast. Billy was only twelve years old. He had no father, and his mother was a washerwoman. He had learned early to tramp. The Judge had worked with him, but when the “movin’-about fever” got hold of Billy, Billy had to move. And he had the fever now. He admitted it to the Judge, and when the Judge said he must go to Golden, the little fellow burst into tears. He had visions of stone walls and iron bars, with a policeman standing over him with a club all the rest of his days. That is what prison means to boys, and Golden was prison to Billy. So he dropped on his knees and begged the Judge not to send him away, promising piti- fully never to do it again.” Billy was simply afraid.